Kaylee's Story

         Kaylee was in her car, driving home from Josh’s funeral.  She had worn an old black corset dress from several years ago that fortunately, still fit.  She had lost a lot of weight recently from her depression, but the dress had been from her sophomore year, before she met Josh, and she barely ate more than she did now.

         It was autumn, and the passenger window had been rolled down, gently blowing her white-blonde hair behind her back.  Kaylee’s grey eyes scanned the traffic surrounding her as she reflected on the funeral.

         Josh had been dressed in a black suit, so unlike him, but his mother had left in the characteristic lip ring, which Kaylee used to play with teasingly before they kissed.  Every one of his friends had come; although he didn’t have many friends, he was very well-liked by those who knew him personally.  The drummer in his band had hugged Kaylee, and wished her the best of luck; he knew now much they had cared for each other.

         A surge of anger rushed through her veins when she thought of her beloved’s death.  How could anyone be so stupid, to drive that drunk?  And the man had taken Josh’s life along with his.  She wasn’t sure how she would live without him, or even if she wanted to try.  She might just end things now.

         She had considered this two years ago, and came extremely close, but then she met him, and he gave her a reason to hope.  Kaylee dared to believe that she could succeed in this world, live with a purpose.  She was wrong, though.  Without Josh, Kaylee was nothing.  She was emptier than ever before.  She would leave, and no one would notice.  That thought alone convinced her to increase the pressure she applied to the gas pedal.  She sped home, not giving a thought to the stop sign she ran, or the car she cut off.

         The drive was a blur.  Although she noticed bits of her surroundings, nothing was worth her attention.  She didn’t remember a thing until she pulled into her garage at home.  Kaylee ran inside her house, up the stairs to her bedroom, and slammed the door.  She dug around in her bathroom until she found the little makeup case that hid her old razor, slid it open, and grabbed the little silver treasure between a thumb and forefinger.  The teen crouched on the floor next to her bed, allowed her fingers to trace over the familiar scars along her arm, then slid the razor across them in a habitual motion, letting her bloody tears run free.  She guided her hand as it sliced her arm continually, and watched the red liquid drip down, thinking about Josh, and the time they had spent together.

         On their sixth month anniversary, they had gone to the park together, just spending time together to celebrate.  The two sat in the gazebo for hours, Josh’s arms around her, talking occasionally.  It was the best day of her life.  Now, he was dead.

         She began to slice harder and faster, and the blood began to pour out of her arm.  She began to grow dizzy, and knew she would lose consciousness, so with one last thought of him, she cut down hard against a main vein on her wrist, and slipped away into the darkness, feeling his arms around her for all of eternity.